


when time only salts your wounds

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: remember the secrets we've told [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Death, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Morning After, Not Canon Compliant, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Relationship Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. </p><p>It kills him to know that he won’t be the one to comfort her, this time; he’ll be the one to break her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when time only salts your wounds

**Author's Note:**

> So, this little monster turned out a wee bit wordier and angstier than I expected. Please forgive any mistakes you might find, this is going to be a long one. 
> 
> Sorry about taking a while longer to update, but it was a combination of writer's block and the pre-holidays and you know how it is. I just want to thank you for supporting the series in whatever way. I love you all and hope you have the best holidays.
> 
> Merry Christmas to whoever celebrates it and enjoy!
> 
> Feedback is lovely as always.

_Eddie seems to be in a place between hopeful and scared when Barry pulls away to look at him. His eyes roam over Barry’s face, searching, and Barry smiles past the void in his stomach._

_Eddie nods, mutters, “Okay,” and his mouth finds Barry’s for a kiss. There is no hesitation when they break apart and Eddie speaks again, determination shining through his voice, “Okay.”_

***

As it turns out, getting out of his suit in a hurry is twice as hard as getting in it.

Barry discovers that as Eddie’s mouth is on him, nipping at his neck and hands reaching and grabbing and pulling at his hair, and he has to maneuver himself out of it while trying to maintain contact.

Eddie gives it little unhelpful shoves until it slides off Barry’s shoulders and ends up in a puddle at their feet, Eddie’s t-shirt soon following. Barry trips on it as they stumble their way into the hallway, making Eddie chuckle into his mouth.

He swallows the sound with another kiss and savors it on Eddie’s tongue, his hands reaching and sliding past the band of Eddie’s sweatpants. His fingers curl around the curve of Eddie’s hip and the contact burns hotter than Barry can take, makes heat rise up in his chest and his eyes prickle.

Eddie, as if sensing his hesitation, breathes against him, head falling to his shoulder before they can step through the door to the bedroom, and whispers, “Allen.”

Barry holds his breath, letting his hand skate up Eddie’s back, fingers pressing over his spine, and Eddie arches into him, mouths at his shoulder.

“Allen.”

Barry can’t help the way his body reacts to the word; every muscle in him jumps and sweat breaks across his skin. He pushes Eddie past the door but doesn’t let go, hands clawing at clothes.

“Allen,” Eddie says again and repeats it until it _hurts_ to hear it, pain and pleasure curling in Barry’s stomach as they fall into the bed, clothes discarded on the floor.

Barry never expected less. 

This is supposed to hurt: what they are, have been, doing. It’s supposed to hurt and burn and allow guilt to consume them, but goddammit if Eddie doesn’t feel good pressed to him, chest lowered to his and hands moving over his sides, fingers curled around his bare skin, leaving marks that would still be there in the morning if Barry didn’t heal faster than is humanly possible.

Teeth slide across Barry’s collarbone and he hisses, hips lifting off the mattress and up into Eddie’s. Eddie moans, breathes out against Barry’s neck, and Barry repeats the tentative motion. The friction is dry, rushed, almost painful, but Barry does it again until his skin is tighter and the ache worse.

He stills himself when Eddie’s hand finds his right hip, keeping him in place, but they both know he could move, if he wanted to. He chooses to watch, instead, to hold his breath and see what happens.

Eddie doesn’t do anything for a while. His eyes search Barry’s face for something and Barry has to look away, twist his neck to the side until his nose and cheek dip into the pillow; it smells like Eddie and Iris and sweat and sex, and the muscles in Barry’s body grit under his skin.

“Eddie, I—” he starts, voice muffled and rough, but can’t finish the thought when Eddie moves, slides along him. “Oh.”

Eddie’s mouth catches his neck, tongue curling on the base of his jawline, and Barry’s hips arch up in helpless, sporadic thrusts. Eddie moans against his chest. Before Eddie can do anything else, Barry takes him by the shoulders and flips them around in a millisecond, pressing Eddie into the mattress.

The bed creaks under their weight. 

A lazy smile spreads across Eddie’s lips and Barry gives out a shallow breath, leans in to catch it with a kiss. This time, Eddie uses his lips as much as he does his tongue and teeth, biting into Barry’s bottom lip and sucking at it when he draws blood.

Barry moans, can’t help it, tastes copper on Eddie’s tongue. They pull away for air and Eddie mutters something Barry can’t understand, gestures at the nightstand.

“First drawer,” Eddie says, panting, and Barry straightens his back, does as he’s told.

He doesn’t know what to look for, but doesn’t need to ask when a bottle of lube stares back at him. He swallows the knot in his throat and glances at Eddie for affirmation, which Eddie gives him with a nod.

“Eddie,” Barry breathes out once he’s kneeling over Eddie again, and _fuck_ , Eddie looks obscene like this: hard for him, legs spread open and sweat covering his chest, eyes begging for _something_ , but Barry doesn’t know what to do. “I’ve never—”

A groan interrupts him.

“Allen, we don’t need to,” Eddie lets the sentence die without completing it. “I want you to just—” He gestures between him and Barry and Barry suddenly gets the picture, lets his lips shape around an _oh_ sound. “Alright?”

Barry nods, coating one hand with enough lube for the two of them. He leans in again, catches Eddie’s neck with his teeth and lips. 

Eddie’s words dissolve into a gasp when Barry’s hand wraps around him, gives him a long, slow stroke. He aligns his body with Eddie’s and just slides against him, into his own hand, slick and wet and _perfect_. 

Barry tightens his grip on them and his mouth finds Eddie’s, tongues missing lips and reaching teeth instead, but he doesn’t care, isn’t able to because his mind is fixated on _Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,_ lost in their rhythm. 

Eddie comes first and, when he does, he drops Barry’s name from his lips—Allen, not Barry, because it’s almost never Barry—and Barry moans, strokes himself with a hand covered in lube and Eddie’s come until he tips over the edge, coating Eddie’s stomach and chest. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind when Barry drops on top of him like deadweight, too spent to move.

Barry is out could before his brain acknowledges the fact that their bodies are glued together and it’s _probably_ disgusting.

***

In the morning, the first thing Barry notices is the crusty mess on his chest. The second is that he’s not in his bed—or his room, for that matter—and the air smells strangely like soap, sweat, and… sex.

“Oh, God,” Barry groans, pressing his face further into the pillow as his mind retraces his steps from last night.

“That bad?”

Barry sits up on the bed faster than he can think. He gives the sheet a tug, covering himself, and finds Eddie smiling at him from the doorway, a towel around his hips and another thrown over his shoulder.

“Eddie, I didn’t—I don’t—” he stutters, eloquently.

Eddie shakes his head and his smile makes Barry’s stomach twist. “Don’t worry, Allen. I was there last night. I know how you feel.”

Barry opens his mouth, but it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak. He squirms under Eddie’s gaze, backing up against the headboard, and Eddie chuckles.

“You’re free to run, if you want,” Eddie offers, running a hand through his wet hair, “but the shower’s right there and I’m about to make us breakfast.”

Honestly, how can someone expect Barry to resist that?

***

The tension has somewhat dissipated when Barry walks into the kitchen, wearing the clothes Eddie left for him on the bed.

“Thank you,” he mutters, gesturing at himself as he takes a seat by the kitchen island.

Eddie smiles at him and he casts his eyes away, focuses on the plate Eddie slides across to him. He pokes at the misshapen sunny side up with his fork and can’t help the smirk that forces itself out.

“Yeah, about that,” Eddie says. Barry picks his gaze up. “Iris is usually the one who makes them.”

Silence floods the room and Barry can almost hear Eddie’s grimace. He does hear a quiet curse, whispered between a breath and another, and it makes him shift in his seat.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Barry tells him, smiles through the remorse wrenching in his stomach. “I get it. You can talk about her,” Barry pauses, stabs his fork into the egg. “I don’t mind,” he says, and while it’s not the truth, it doesn’t feel like a complete lie, either.

***

Barry beats Eddie to the station by a full thirty seconds, despite having to go home to change into his own clothes.

Eddie is trying to look unwound as he catches up to Barry in the hallway, but Barry doesn’t miss the redness on his face and the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as they stop, opposite each other. Barry smiles, reaching out to wipe at Eddie’s face.

“I can’t beat you, can I?” Eddie mutters, taking a step back. He laughs, tugging at his tie. “I think I broke at least a dozen speed limits back there.”

“Still not as many as I did.”

Eddie smiles, his hands resting at his sides as he takes in a shallow breath, and a voice interrupts him as he opens his mouth to speak:

“And hour. This has gotta be a new record for you, Barry.”

Barry turns around to face Joe and takes another step away from Eddie, scratches the back of his neck as he searches for an appropriate answer. Joe raises his eyebrows at him, then at Eddie, and frowns.

“And you,” he tells Eddie, hitting his arm with a file before handing it to him. “Singh has been looking for you for the past thirty minutes. Go.”

Eddie gives Barry a glance before walking out and Barry swallows, feet shifting under his weight. 

“I take it you two have talked,” Joe says once Eddie isn’t within earshot. 

Barry nods, afraid to use words he might regret later. 

Joe doesn’t ask more questions than is needed as they walk down the hallway and up to Barry’s lab, although Barry suspects that he probably wouldn’t have the answer either way. Joe knows something’s wrong—and how could he not, with Eddie wanting Barry to be locked up? Barry grimaces at the thought—and Barry can feel it in Joe’s not-so-discreet glances his way, but Joe seems to be merely curious, not prying.

Barry’s thankful for it, he really is, until Joe mutters, feigning disinterest, “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” and Barry freezes on the spot.

He flips through a few files and gathers his thoughts.

“Look,” Barry starts, wets his lips when his mind struggles to find the words, “we had an argument the day before—”

“About Iris?”

“No. Yes. I mean—kind of.” Barry curses himself internally, rubs at his neck. “But he had every right to be angry. I screwed up.”

Joe nods, even though his eyes tell another story. Barry sighs, letting his shoulders fall.

“He’s not going to arrest me, Joe,” Barry assures him, can’t contain a half-smile as he reminds himself of why not. “He’s pulling out of the task force.”

“Good. That’s good, but Singh’s not.”

Barry’s brain does a double-take. “Singh isn’t—why?”

“You attacked a CCPD detective,” says Joe, lowering his voice. “You put my daughter’s life in danger.”

“Joe, you know I would never—”

Joe holds up a hand. 

“That is not the point, Barry. The Captain doesn’t know that; he doesn’t know who you are, what Bivolo did to you. To him, the Flash is just a dangerous vigilante running loose on the streets.” He gives Barry a cautious look. “Maybe it would be best if he disappeared for a while.”

“I can’t.” Barry shakes his head. “I can’t. This city needs me.”

Barry almost flinches when Joe’s hand drops on his shoulder, fingers gripping at it. “You can still protect it,” Joe says, glances around the lab, “from here. Doing the job you are _paid_ to do, son.”

Barry’s phone buzzes before he can digest the words and he glances at Joe, who gives him a short nod. 

It’s a text from Cisco.

_dude. where the hell is my suit?_

Shit. He completely forgot about that.

Barry’s eyebrows come together and he clears his throat, only somewhat thankful for the interruption. 

“I—I need to go. I’m sorry,” he tells Joe, and is out the door before he can get a proper response.

He finds Eddie as Eddie is leaving Singh’s office, looking defeated. It’s amazing what a five-minute meeting with Singh can do to a person. Barry makes a mental note to make it up to Eddie later.

“I need the key,” Barry says, dragging Eddie to a more secluded corner, out in the hallway.

“The—what?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “The key?”

Barry glances around, whispers, “To your place. I forgot the suit. I need to return it.”

“Right.” Eddie fishes a key from his pocket and places it on Barry’s hand, fingers lingering for a moment. He smiles, eyebrows shot up and thumb rubbing at Barry’s wrist. “Here. Don’t burn the place down.”

“Eddie?”

Barry yanks his hand away at the sound of Iris’ voice, hides it behind his back out of instinct. Eddie’s touch burns like an imprint on his skin.

The Wests have _really_ got to stop sneaking up on him.

“Iris,” Eddie says, his eyes filling up with terror, and Barry has to look away when Iris leans in to give him a kiss, almost bumping into a fire extinguisher as he recoils. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Iris glances between him and Barry. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been calling since last night. Didn’t you get my messages?”

Barry closes his eyes, feeling as though someone dumped a gallon of ice-cold water on him. Eddie gives Barry’s foot a nudge and Barry clears his throat, gestures in the general direction of the door as he excuses himself and walks away.

“I’m sorry. I was working late,” he hears Eddie say to her and he has to stop and look over his shoulder, catch Eddie’s gaze with a frown.

 _Really?_ he mouths at Eddie from afar and Eddie just widens his eyes at him, raises his eyebrows as if to say _go away, Allen, let me handle it_ , with one hand closing around Iris’ arm to drag her away.

Barry leaves with terror and anticipation sitting at the pit of his stomach, and they don’t cancel each other out like he’s expecting them to.

***

Cisco is waiting for him the moment he arrives at S.T.A.R. Labs.

He doesn’t get the chance to apologize before Cisco snatches the suit away from his hands, not one word directed at him, and proceeds to put it neatly in place, running his fingers over it as if to make sure Barry hasn’t badly damaged it.

Barry shrugs when Caitlin passes him a questioning look. “Sorry. I got, uh, held up with something last night,” he offers.

“It’s fine, Barry. He was just—”

“It’s not fine!” Cisco cuts through her and she presses her lips together as if to suppress a laugh. Barry smiles. “You already blew it up once,” says Cisco, pointing an inquisitive finger at Barry. “I will not let you do it again.”

“Technically, I didn’t,” Barry says, scratches his head, “but I don’t think you need to worry about that. Joe thinks I shouldn’t use it for a while.”

Caitlin’s eyes go wide, as well as Cisco’s, and they say in unison, “What?”

“Singh’s going after the Flash.”

Cisco snorts, but when Barry doesn’t show a hint of amusement, his mouth falls open. “Dude, you’re actually serious?”

Barry nods, sliding his hands into the pockets in his jacket. Cisco and Caitlin exchange a lengthy look and Barry wishes he could hear the silent conversation somehow. 

“Barry, how did that happen?” Caitlin asks, sliding her arms together over her chest.

“It’s complicated. I meant to tell you sooner.” Barry exhales through his mouth, shakes his head with a slight shrug. “Eddie was pushing for it and now Singh wants to do it.” 

“Eddie as in Eddie Thawne,” Caitlin says, measuring her words. Her intonation doesn’t hide her disapproval. “Iris’ boyfriend? He wanted to arrest you?”

“I knew that guy was up to no good.” Barry frowns at Cisco and Cisco just narrows his eyes at the wall, as if conjuring up an entire scenario in his head in which Eddie is the villain. “He was too good to be… good.”

Barry sighs.

“Eddie’s fine, guys. He’s not gonna arrest me, I promise,” he says, hides a smile when his brain goes back to the night before. “But Singh’s a whole other story. I think we need to be more careful.”

“Hey, maybe we could work on an invisibility cloak,” Cisco thinks aloud, brow knit.

“Like Harry Potter?”

Cisco nods, pointing approvingly at Barry. “Exactly!”

Barry watches as Cisco disappears behind a door, a pen between his teeth, and glances at Caitlin, who just gives him a tight smile and goes back to her screen. Barry lingers for a second, chewing around his inner cheek as silence settles between them.

“You talk, I’ll listen,” Caitlin throws over her shoulder without bothering to look at him.

Barry breathes out a sigh and grabs the chair Cisco was occupying not a minute ago, scooting closer to Caitlin as she continues to study the display. Her eyes are focused but her fingers are drumming a steady rhythm against her desk; Barry takes it as a cue to speak up.

“I went to see Iris last night.” Caitlin hums in her throat and waves for him to go on. “As the Flash.”

That makes Caitlin spins in her chair. “You never listen, do you?”

“Usually not,” Barry offers, conceding her the point. He smiles, shrugs. “It’s a character flaw. I can’t help it.”

Caitlin smiles back at him, tilting her head to the side. Barry drops his gaze, stares at the floor for a moment before adding, “I just wanted to let you know that I won’t see her like that. Not anymore. She asked me not to.”

Caitlin nods, gives him another smile as she turns back to the monitor. “I know you love her, Barry,” she says, “but sometimes you need to let people go.”

Barry leaves with the sound of words being typed away behind him.

One step at a time.

***

Singh literally dumps a hundred and twenty files—he counts, just to make sure—in his arms when he returns to the police station.

He glances at Joe for solace, but Joe doesn’t offer him more than an amused smirk and Barry has a feeling that he wants to laugh at Singh’s idea of punishment, but respects Barry too much for it. 

Shaking his head and not fighting a smile himself, Barry carries the files to his lab. He slides the door open with a shoulder to find Eddie there, his suit and shirt discarded over Barry’s chair as he punches away at the bag. Barry drops the files onto his desk, detours around it to get a closer look at Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t look at him, lands punch after punch without so much as a sound except for his breathing, coming out in shallow bursts. Barry doesn’t have to ask to know that the conversation with Iris probably didn’t go very well. 

He glances between the pile on his desk and Eddie for a moment; it’s not a difficult decision to make.

***

Barry stays at the lab afterhours to work on the cases Singh handed him. He uses his speed to sweep through it, but there is only so much he can do: he still finds himself with thirty cases to go at the end of the night.

He’s locking up when Iris sends him the message. He stares at his phone for a moment, contemplates running home and lying to her when she asks him about it, but he doesn’t think he can keep more secrets from her than he already is.

He meets her at Jitters. The door is unlocked. 

She’s sitting at the counter, fingers drawing invisible circles on it, and almost jumps when she hears the door open. She looks at him as if he just materialized in there and she’s not entirely wrong, Barry thinks.

“Hey,” she greets him, but her tone lacks drive, as do her eyes.

Barry smiles through the gnawing pain in his stomach, brings himself over to where she is and takes the stool next to her.

“Hey,” Barry says back and she gives him a dry smile. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know.” She frowns, shakes her head. “I don’t know. I talked to Eddie today and he was… different. I feel like I’m out of the loop. Like something’s happening and no one will tell me.”

Iris leans forward, elbows on the counter and hands intertwined. Barry watches her, traces her movements with his eyes and catalogues them in a murky part of his brain. 

“Eddie—” she starts, but cuts herself short as if she just got lost in a memory. Blinking, she adds, “Eddie’s pulled out of the task force. I _know_ something happened.” She spins in her seat so she’s facing Barry. “I know him, Barry. He would never give up like that, not without a fight.”

Barry gives her a nod because that’s the only thing he can think to do. 

She studies his face for a moment, hand reaching for his when she doesn’t seem to find what she’s looking for. Barry opens his mouth even though he’s got nothing to say, turns until they’re sitting face to face, and Iris smiles, her eyes dropping to where their hands meet.

“If you could just—”

Barry shakes his head. “Iris, I can’t.” 

“Please, Barry.” Her hand tightens around his. “Just talk to him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you; he trusts you. Please. For me.”

Barry continues to shake his head through the silence. He takes his hand back when Iris loosens her grip on it, her eyes set on the floor, and rubs at his face. The smell of coffee and Iris’ perfume fills his lungs and leaves him through a shuddered breath.

“I’m not promising anything, but—”

“Thank you!” Iris cuts through him. A smile splits across her face when Barry nods and she throws her arms around his neck, tugs him close until his chin is resting on her shoulder. “I knew you could count on you. _Thank_ you.”

Barry only smiles because he can’t trust his words not to betray him.

***

The next day at work, between Cisco calling him in for a metahuman snafu and Singh briefing them on a hostage situation in a store downtown, Barry doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Eddie.

He leaves the key on Eddie’s desk.

***

Barry gets a call from Joe as he and Cisco are locking up a metahuman.

“I need you over here, now,” is all Joe says, and even Cisco can tell something isn’t right.

Barry leaves with a quick goodbye and isn’t prepared for what he finds on the other side of town. Joe gives him a blank look and Barry’s heart drops to his toes, bile stuck in his throat. 

The blood is still fresh, no older than a few minutes, bright and thick beneath the bodies on the floor. Barry has to look away for a moment, even as the logical part of his brain yells at him to do his job and collect the evidence. Joe’s hand falls on his shoulder when he doesn’t move and he flinches, eyes darting toward the store to find Eddie sitting on the stairs, gaze lost in a wall, blood spattered over his clothes and face and—

The next second is a long one for Barry. His pulse comes to a halt and his feet move on their own, but Joe stops him before he takes the step, grip tightening around him.

Joe shakes his head. “Give him time.”

Barry wants to scream. He wants to scream and run and punch something until his knuckles are raw. He wants to walk over and sit beside Eddie, silent and understanding and just _there_ , but he doesn’t do any of that because he can’t.

“Barry.”

He turns to look at Joe, nods when nausea isn’t dancing in his stomach as much. “I’m fine,” he says. Joe gives out a relieved sigh even though he didn’t ask. Barry looks down at the scene by his feet. “I’ll be quick,” he promises.

He isn’t. 

The fastest man alive is, somehow, the slowest person in the room.

***

There’s probably something about parking lots he didn’t get the memo on.

Eddie finds him as he’s leaving, his bag thrown over one shoulder, and closes a hand around his arm, lingers until Barry heaves an exhausted sigh and turns, his eyes briefly touching Eddie’s frame but landing on the asphalt.

A car passes on the street and Barry glances at it, allows his eyes to dawdle on the spot even after the car’s disappeared in the distance. Eddie’s hand leaves his arm and Barry carries his gaze to Eddie, opens his mouth to speak even though his brain refuses to cooperate.

The lights are still on in the station, a quiet but constant chatter filling the air behind them, and Barry allows it to overcome the silence for him. 

The hum around them fades as Eddie takes half a step in his direction, close enough that Barry can smell the long day at work on him—gun powder and sweat and exhaustion, all too familiar to him but not necessarily explored.

“I’m sorry.”

 _For what?_ Barry wants to ask. For failing at their job, letting people die? For lying to the woman they love, making out in parking lots and messy kitchens and unmade beds?

“Barry,” Eddie says, and it sounds like an apology again.

Barry shakes his head, distances himself when it becomes too much.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need to go home and get some sleep,” he tells Eddie. Eddie nods, his hands coming up to rest on his hips, and Barry takes in a jagged breath, smiles even if it twists his stomach into knots. “I’m fine.”

Lying isn’t something he’s surprised by or even unfamiliar with, but he can’t remember the time it became so easy.

***

Guilt follows him home.

He doesn’t, can’t sleep.

***

Singh assembles about thirty of them in his office.

Barry is crammed between Joe and the wall, next to the door, arms folded across his chest as he listens to Singh’s motivational speech. Eddie is on the other side of the room, perched over the back of a chair with a file in his hands. Barry recognizes the pictures in it even from a distance—dead eyes and pale bodies in pools of blood—and he can’t keep looking at it in fear they might haunt him again. 

Singh continues to speak. Nobody seems to be listening. Barry’s brain can’t quite filter the words either.

Eddie closes his file, slides it onto Singh’s desk, and pushes his way through the small crowd, flees the office without a look over his shoulder. He leaves a sore spot on Barry’s arm where he bumped into him. Joe glances at the door and Barry follows his gaze, doesn’t need to be told twice when Joe nods towards it, eyebrows up as if to say _go_.

Barry takes the steps two at a time, hoping to find Eddie in his lab. His heart plunges through his stomach when he doesn’t.

“Eddie?” he calls out and it bounces from wall to wall.

No response.

Glass breaks in the background. He tries to isolate the sound, but his heart is pounding in his ears—loud and clear and he can’t hear anything else. He uses his speed to check every single door in that floor, instead.

Barry, when he finds Eddie, can’t seem to react. Panics rises in his throat at the sight of Eddie’s blood-covered hand and he shakes his head, hopes he’s going to wake up drenched in sweat and sighing in relief in the next second.

He doesn’t.

He’s memorized every look on Eddie’s face, except this one. It’s a slow, endless tumble; one giant wall smattering to the ground until all there’s left is dust in Eddie’s eyes. He reaches out, lightning-quick, and pulls Eddie into him, the wetness of Eddie’s cheek pressed to his neck and Eddie’s fists around his shirt, painting it red. 

“Eddie—what—” he starts, but his brain can’t string a coherent sentence together.

Eddie pulls away, a shard breaking into twenty more under his weight, and Barry almost doesn’t let go. 

“I wasn’t quick enough,” Eddie says. His tone makes Barry swallow dry, a shudder running down his bones. “I wasn’t quick enough to save them, and I drove away the only person who was.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“If I—if I hadn’t—then maybe—” Eddie glances up at him. “Maybe you could’ve been there. Maybe you could have saved them.”

“Don’t,” Barry says, takes one step closer to Eddie again. Eddie doesn’t move, not this time, and holds Barry’s gaze instead. Barry feels like he’s staring through a void. “Don’t say that. There was nothing either of us could do.”

The words taste bitter in Barry’s mouth, even if he knows they are true.

He spent the night coming up with a million ways the result could have been different—if he’d been faster, if Singh wasn’t after the Flash, if he’d spent one minute less at Eddie’s that morning, if he hadn’t gone to Eddie’s at all—but, somehow, nothing changed. There were too many variables, ones they couldn’t control or predict. Maybe it wasn’t a hostage situation at all; maybe someone woke up that morning with the intent of killing three people and destroying a family.

“There was nothing either of us could do,” Barry repeats, reaching for Eddie’s hand. Blood marks his fingertips as he runs them over the cuts on Eddie’s knuckles. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Eddie shakes his head, says, “I know, I wasn’t thinking,” and his voice is solid this time around. He glances at the bits and pieces scattered on the floor, gives out a humorless laugh. “Singh’s probably gonna dock my pay for it.”

Barry smiles, ignores the way Eddie’s blood on him, on his clothes, makes his throat close around itself. His eyes flick up to lock on Eddie’s, letting the moment stretch for a minute longer, and Eddie tumbles into him again, mouth on his. Barry closes his eyes, parts his lips when Eddie’s tongue asks for permission, one hand coming up to rest on the base of Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie tastes of coffee and fear; it consumes Barry until his head starts to spin, but he catches himself just as he’s about to fall over the edge.

His hand leaves Eddie’s neck to close around the front of Eddie’s suit. He gives it a little pull, fingers tugging lightly at the fabric, and Eddie groans, chases his mouth when he jerks away and takes in a breath. His lungs are about to burst as he drags his eyes across Eddie’s frame, takes in Eddie’s parted mouth and the imprints his fingers left on the side of Eddie’s neck and clothes.

“You need to get that checked out,” Barry says as he takes a step back, gesturing at Eddie’s bruised hand. He wets his lips and tastes Eddie there, ignores the way his pulse quickens again. “People are going to ask what happened.”

Iris is going to ask what happened.

Eddie blinks, takes a moment before shaking his head and mimicking Barry, wetting his lips. He looks down at his hand. “It’s nothing. You don’t have to—”

“Barry, you out here?”

Barry jumps at the sound of Joe’s voice. 

Eddie exchanges a look with him, eyes wild, and Barry moves in record time, tidies up as best as he can—washes the blood off him and Eddie, zips up his jacket so Eddie’s blood isn’t visible on him and takes off Eddie’s, drapes it over a sink with its clean side up—before Joe pushes open the door and steps inside. His eyes trail between Barry and Eddie for a second too long and his eyebrows come together.

“Everything alright?” Joe asks, but his expression hardens before Barry can reply. It’s hard to miss a broken mirror on the wall. Joe releases the door, letting it slide closed behind him, and crosses his arms above his chest. “Do I need to ask?”

Barry glances at Eddie and spurts out a cacophony of sounds better suited for a two-year-old. “I can explain,” he says when he can finally remember how to speak. Joe gives him an expectant look. “I—”

“Hey, Allen,” Eddie interrupts, one hand coming up to pat Barry on the arm. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”

Barry opens his mouth and closes it again. “Are you sure?”

Eddie nods, squeezes his arm before letting go and giving Joe a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Barry can’t look Joe in the eye as he leaves. The door closes behind him with a muffled thud, but his bones jump under his skin, prickling and numb and Barry can’t breathe as he walks back into his lab. 

The seconds pass by in slow motion. 

Barry has to slouch down onto a chair when his knees start to go weak, hand clutching at his jacket, over the spot Eddie’s blood left on his shirt. He tugs at it, holds it away from his body so he can inhale without his ribcage threatening to burst.

After a moment, darkness embraces him and it takes him a minute to realize he’s closed his eyes.

He doesn’t hear footsteps, but he opens them to find Joe there, Eddie standing behind him with an easy smile on his lips. Barry straightens his back, hand leaving his chest to clutch at the armrest, and Joe mimics Eddie’s smile, nods with a glance between him and Eddie. Barry gulps when silence rumbles for longer than is comfortable.

Joe is the one who breaks it, voice softer than Barry has heard in a while, “I know you’re trying to protect this city.” He sits down at the edge of Barry’s desk, glancing over his shoulder to look at Eddie again. Barry follows his gaze. Eddie’s smile twitches. “But you can’t save everyone in it, Barry.”

Barry nods, ignores the sting behind his eyes. “I know.”

“Maybe,” Joe says, squeezes Barry’s shoulder. “You should focus on protecting the people who matter to you the most.”

Barry’s response dries up on his tongue, though he’s not sure he even had one. He bites down onto his cheek, eyes darting to Eddie again—Joe will notice, Joe will definitely notice, _shit_ —because he can’t help it, because it’s stronger than him and he _has_ to. He has to because he can’t miss the way the muscles on Eddie’s shoulder tense under his stare, or the way Eddie wets his lips when Barry opens his mouth speak.

“I will,” says Barry, letting his gaze travel back to Joe. He nods and Joe nods back, pats his arms before picking himself up and leaving, walking past Eddie with a guarded smile.

The lab closes in on them, gets smaller and tighter until it seems like the only place in the world. 

Barry stands but doesn’t move, chooses to keep the distance between him and Eddie, breathes in and out so he doesn’t choke on his own words. Eddie shifts, his feet shortening the space by an inch, and Barry feels safe enough to speak:

“How’s the hand?”

Eddie chuckles, surprised. “Sore.” He looks down at it, raises his eyebrows. “Bleeding.”

“No kidding,” Barry says, can’t help a laugh when Eddie gives him a pointed look. The hammering in his chest dies down, a little. He rolls his shoulders back, breathes out a sigh. “I know someone who can help.”

He’ll have questions to answer, Caitlin will ask, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing at all.

***

Caitlin does ask, pulling him aside to leave Eddie and Cisco alone in the next room, a glass wall separating them.

Her hand meets his arm, lingers, and the warmth seeps through the borrowed sweatshirt he’s wearing. Her eyes roam over him for a second too long and he drops his eyes to his feet, closes them when the air tightens around him.

“Barry, what happened?”

He sets his jaw, shakes his head once he’s picked up his gaze. “I was too late, yesterday. I couldn’t—” Barry swallows. “I wasn’t there in time. Three people are gone. Eddie—he thinks it’s his fault.”

Caitlin’s hand drops from his arm, stops at his hand to give it a squeeze before releasing him. “You think it’s yours.”

“You didn’t see it,” Barry says. The images come rushing to him; a flood of red on white carpets flickers in his vision, disorients him. He doesn’t mention the coppery smell, the look in Eddie's eyes, dark and empty, or the smear of red on Eddie’s face. He glances through the glass. “It was—”

She’s hugging him before he can finish the thought. 

He doesn’t hug her back, but presses his cheek to her hair, breathes in firewood and hazelnut and something else. He tries to smile as they pull apart, but Caitlin’s expression tells him he hasn’t quite succeeded. He doesn’t try again, but she does, her smile soothing and warm, hands rubbing at the sides of his arms.

“If there’s _anything_ ,” she says, glances through the wall, at Eddie, “you need to tell me, I’m here.”

Barry takes a breath and holds it. There’s so much he needs to tell—not just her, but Iris—that he can’t put it into words. Telling the truth doesn’t cross his mind as much as it should. The thought alone brings his stomach to his throat.

Maybe it’s—no, it’s definitely selfish. He doesn’t want to be the one to hurt Iris, to be the one that betrayed her. 

“It’s fine,” he tells her.

Caitlin studies him, nods approvingly. “Good. I just wanted to make sure you—”

“Allen.” Barry flinches, taking a step back from her. He glances up at Eddie, by the doorway, and Eddie opens his mouth, silently. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” says Caitlin. She gives Barry a smile and Barry reciprocates even though it hurts to do so. “I think you’re all set.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him, as if awaiting confirmation, and Barry nods, walks over to him, reaches for Eddie’s hand with the excuse of checking the bandage. Caitlin’s eyes dawdle on them.

She clears her throat. Eddie frowns at him once he’s pulled away.

“It should be fine in a day or two,” Caitlin tells Eddie, gesturing toward the hand Barry was holding. 

Eddie smiles, glances at Barry before thanking her. Barry stutters an excuse to leave and Caitlin doesn’t give him a hard time. Cisco narrows his eyes at Eddie’s back when Eddie isn’t looking. Barry has to smile despite the panic setting in his stomach. 

He catches Caitlin’s eyes one last time before they go; it does nothing to relieve him.

***

Barry doesn’t like silent drives.

He doesn’t like silence, period. It gives way to too many thoughts that he’d rather have buried in deep for no one to find, memories about Eddie’s taste on his tongue and Eddie’s mouth on him, fantasies about—

“I think we should tell Iris.”

Tires screech against the asphalt. The seatbelt digs into Barry’s shoulder. He’s almost thankful for the pain—it hurts less than the look Eddie gives him, somehow.

“I talked to her. She said—”

 _I’ve seen the way he looks at you_ , she said. _He trusts you._

Barry swallows the words, stares out the window so he doesn’t have to face Eddie. “I can’t lie to her,” he mutters. “She knows something’s wrong.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and the sound makes Barry’s stomach curl. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall against the headrest, breathes in and out until his head stops swimming, waits for Eddie to add something that never comes.

He opens his eyes when Eddie’s bandaged hand finds his thigh. The fingers dig into him, firm but not painful, and Barry has to fight the urge to lean in, to move his leg closer. He can’t remember the time he started craving Eddie’s touch more than Iris’ smile; he tries not to whimper when the hand leaves him and goes back the steering wheel.

Barry almost squashes against the window as Eddie makes a sharp turn without warning. They’re not heading back to the station; Barry’s made that same turn enough times to know it by heart, to recognize the little shops scattered around the street, with wide sidewalks and dying trees surrounding them. 

Jitters stands in the distance, staring back at them, mocking. He turns his gaze to Eddie once the car’s come to a stop, in walking distance from Iris' workplace. She could probably see them if she looked out the window, catch Eddie leaning in as far as his seatbelt will let him, Barry closing the distance and shutting his eyes, resting his forehead against Eddie’s after he can’t bear the taste on Eddie’s mouth—it tastes like goodbye.

Barry’s stomach plummets to the floor and bums a ride at the bottom of his feet as they walk into Jitters. Iris sweeps through the room with a coffee pot in hand, wearing her smile like a badge as she goes about providing her customers with their daily dose of caffeine. She doesn’t see them, not for a while as they stand near the entrance, arms close enough to touch but not quite.

Her smile, once she catches them, duplicates in size before fading into a frown. Barry has to drop his gaze, distance himself from Eddie and her when she comes to them, lips meeting Eddie’s with a quiet sound.

“Is everything alright?”

Fear.

Barry has seen that look on her face more times than he can count. She used to wear it religiously whenever Joe didn’t come home for the night, caught up in a case, or a case got sensationalized on TV and she had no way of knowing if he was okay, leaving Barry to fill the empty space in her bed at night, their small bodies pressed side by side until he was sure she’d fallen asleep.

“Barry.” Her voice trembles. He exchanges a look with Eddie. “Barry, you’re scaring me.”

He takes the pot from her hand when it becomes clear that it might end up in pieces at their feet at any moment, places it on the counter.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. 

It kills him to know that he won’t be the one to comfort her, this time; he’ll be the one to break her.

_end_


End file.
